For A Coupl'a Cents
by Ostrich on a Rampage
Summary: When Pulitzer cuts the Delancey brothers pay and Morris makes a foolish bet, Oscar is willing to do whatever it takes to get the money they need to protect his younger brother. Whatever. It. Takes. Birthday one-shot for K. Maximoff!


**Happy birthday, ! Hope you enjoy some more Delancey brothers!**

 **For my ostriches, this story does mention events of Kelly's Crip, but you don't need to have read it to understand what it happening. That being said, I do recommend Kelly's Crip, just because that's one of my favorite one-shots I wrote and I live for self-promotion. Anyway, read on!**

* * *

"Hey, Wiesel, you counted wrong," Oscar Delancey pointed out, re-counting the coins in his hand. It was only a couple days after Kelly and his infernal boys had won the strike against Pulitzer and the World. Now Kelly thought he was king of the world and his bravado had only increased, much to Oscar's annoyance. "You only gave me a twenty-five cents. I'm ten cents short."

Wiesel snorted. "Like hell you are," Wiesel muttered, handing Morris a quarter.

"You can't cut our pay," Oscar challenged.

" _I'm_ not. Pulitzer is. I just follow the orders and orders are that you guys get paid a quarter each."

"W-what?" Morris stuttered, his face blanching. "Y-you c-can't."

"Y-yes, I c-can," Wiesel mocked. "Take your money and go, before I start getting the idea that it might be more worthwhile to hire someone else in your place. Someone who won't complain."

Oscar's eyes narrowed. "We won't stand for this. We'se got rights."

"Oh," Wiesel laughed. "You thinkin' you're going to be all high and mighty like the newsboys? What're you going to do, strike?" Oscar bristled at Wiesel's mocking tone, unconsciously stepping between him and Morris. Wiesel laughed again, the sound cruel and grating. "You don't got a chance, boy."

"Kelly succeeded," Oscar growled, hating that he even had to bring up the cocky newsboy.

"Kelly only won because he got Pulitzer's daughter on his side. Without that damned girl, they wouldn't've stood a chance. Pulitzer was weak; he let his daughter win." Wiesel smirked, "Take your pay and go, boy."

Recognizing that there wasn't anything he could do to change Wiesel's mind, Oscar stalked away, Morris following close behind. "Oscar," Morris whispered as they left Wiesel behind and started making their way down the alleyways to the decrepit apartment they called home. "W-what are we g-gonna do?" Morris' nervousness shone through the stutter he couldn't quite hide.

"I don't know," Oscar admitted. "Just shoulder the loss, I guess. There ain't any other jobs and Wiesel's right: Pulitzer ain't gonna be fair with us. There's nothing we can do."

"W-we can't," Morris muttered. "I-I can't. I g-gotta get the f-full amount," he said, his stutter increasing with the panic that Oscar could see was beginning to shine bright and wild in Morris' eyes.

"What's wrong?" Oscar asked, grabbing Morris' shoulders and forcing his baby brother to look him in the eye. When Morris' eyes continued to jump around past Oscar, he shook his brother roughly. "Morris, what is bothering you?" Oscar demanded.

"I-I messed up r-r-real bad," Morris admitted.

"Okay, what did you do?" Oscar asked, somewhat gently. "We'll fix it, yeah?"

Morris shook his head. "And w-what if w-we can't?"

"We will," Oscar assured. "You just gotta tell me what happened, okay?"

Morris nodded. "I made a b-bet. I'm sorry, Oscar. I thought it was a s-sure thing."

"How much do you owe?" Oscar asked softly.

"F-fifteen dollars," Morris admitted, his voice low with fear. Oscar turned away, cursing. He jerked his hands through his hair. How in the world would they manage to pay back such an amount? It was a fortune. "I-I'm s-sorry," Morris whispered, quickly, guiltily. "I-I'm so v-very s-sorry. I—"

"What were you thinking?" Oscar hissed.

"I j-just wanted us to g-get away. I w-wanted us to have a n-new l-life. I-I'm sorry, Oscar."

Oscar shook his head, before growling, "It's fine, Morris. We'll fix this. That's just… a lot of money." He pulled the twenty-five cents from his pocket, examining the coins. "We… How much have you paid back already?"

"Nothing, y-yet. I got about a d-dollar saved up, b-but that's it," he admitted.

"How long do you have?"

"I d-don't know. They want a p-payment made next W-wednesday."

"A week," Oscar breathed, his mind whirling. Maybe they could just run. Would they be able to leave New York? Start over somewhere far away? Not without money, Oscar knew. They were stuck. They needed money to pay back the bet; they needed money to get away. "A week," he repeated.

Morris shook his head. "I-I'm s-sorry." His voice shook with fear, with shame and Oscar turned sharply to him.

"Calm down, okay? We're going to figure this out. We'll get the money. It's going to be okay, yeah?"

Morris swallowed shakily. "Okay," he said slowly, carefully sounding out the two syllables to hide his stutter. "H-how are we going to do that? The only people with extra p-pocket change is the newsies."

"We'll just have to take it from them," Oscar muttered, cracking his knuckles. "We'll target the young ones, the boys who won't fight back as much. Hit them quick, make sure Kelly doesn't connect it to us." It wasn't as if Oscar particularly enjoyed beating up smaller boys, but his brother's well-being far exceeded that of the newsies.

"It won't be enough," Morris whispered. "What'll we get? A couple extra dollars? Oscar, they'll k-kill me."

He was terrified, Oscar realized. His brother was terrified and Oscar wouldn't stand for that. "There's gotta be a way that we can get more from them. We'll time our attacks, right after they sell their last pape, but before they buy dinner. They've gotta have at least a dollar on them at that point. Maybe…" Oscar fell silent, considering. "Maybe we could even get Kelly himself to give us a couple dollars."

"How're we gonna do that? He ain't an idiot. He ain't gonna pay us for beating on his boys." Oscar was glad that Morris was calming down enough so that his stutter wouldn't shake each syllable. He knew just how self-conscious Morris was of the stutter, no matter how many times Oscar tried to pound into his head that it didn't matter.

"But, if we aren't the ones doing the beating," Oscar said, grinning, "he might be willing to pay for a bit of protection. See," Oscar continued, excited as it all seemed to fall into place, "initially, he'll just pair up some of the younger boys with bigger ones and have them sell together. But, once the numbers start falling, Kelly won't be able to keep them selling in pairs; they won't be making enough money to keep up the rent. He'll need to split 'em up. Then we can volunteer to watch the boys' back. For a price, of course." He glanced up at Morris, grinning widely. "It'll work, Morris. We can get the money this way."

"I don't know." Morris was hesitant and Oscar understood why. It was risky and if it didn't work, there would be no other way for them to acquire the money for Morris' betters. "Kelly will know it's us."

"Not if we're with him when he finds one of his boys being beat up by the guy."

"And how are we going to d-do that?" Morris asked, a sliver of excitement tinging his words.

"I got a plan," Oscar announced. "But, if we'se gonna get all the money by next Wednesday, we'se gonna need to start now. Today."

Morris glanced up at the sun, gauging the time of day. "We'se still got a coupl'a hours before the boys are done selling. What do we gotta do?"

"There's a couple things we gotta set up and then we'll be ready. Kelly won't even see it coming."

* * *

Oscar and Morris had made their rounds throughout Manhattan, careful to observe where Kelly was selling without him noticing them. They also pinpointed the selling spots of all the younger, weaker newsies. "See," Oscar explained to Morris, "we want to go after someone that Kelly will find. Someone who is on his route home. That way, if we walk home with him a little, he'll see the kid and will recognize the danger his boys are in."

There were two boys that sold further down the route Kelly would be taking to return to the Lodging House: the small boy that hung around the kid with the cigar, and Kelly's crip. "Which one do you think we should go after?" Oscar asked Morris. "Both are pretty good targets."

Morris shrugged. "The crip might have more money. People pity crips."

Oscar nodded in agreement. "Good idea. You got everything set up and know what you need to do, yeah?"

"I got it," Morris assured his older brother.

"Good." Oscar gripped Morris' shoulder. "We'll get the money, okay? Don't worry about it." Morris nodded hesitantly and Oscar tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder. "We'se gonna be fine. Now, let's go get that crip's money before he makes it back to the Lodging House."

It was only a brief walk to where the crip was waving a paper in the air, shouting some headline about a tenement fire that had left hundreds dead. A dapperly dressed man stepped up and pressed a coin that glinted silver into the crip's hand, taking the newspaper. "See," Morris pointed out triumphantly, "he's already being overpaid."

"Yeah, it was a good choice," Oscar agreed.

The crip stuffed the coin into his pocket before lofting his final pape into the air and repeating the headline. It wasn't very long before someone else came over and paid the two pennies for the paper. The crip smiled and patted his pocket once, before starting down the road to the Lodging House. Timing was of the essence, now. The Delancey brothers needed to manage to overtake the crip, beat him soundly, and take his money, all before Kelly had finished selling his papes and started home.

Just as the crip was passing by an open alleyway, Oscar hissed, "Now!" He and Morris leapt forward, grabbing the crip and dragging him deeper into the alley. The crip immediately began to struggle and tried to call for help, but Oscar clamped his hand roughly over the crip's mouth, silencing any cries. With a sharp cuff to the crip's ear, Oscar dragged him past a bend, before shoving him to the ground. The crip cried out, but Morris kicked him in the jaw.

"S-stop," the crip stuttered, which only seemed to anger Morris more, and he kicked the crip in the head again. Oscar nearly reached out to stop Morris, to explain that he didn't think the crip was mocking him, but he didn't. After all, this was the plan, right? Beat the crip.

Oscar reached down and scooped the crutch up. He remembered when Snyder had used this very same object to beat the crip. Had that only been a couple weeks ago? Oscar glanced at the shuddering boy at the mercy of Morris. What injuries still remained from the Refuge? What injuries would only be aggravated by such a violent beating? In the end, though, it didn't matter. All that mattered was if they could get the money to pay of Morris' bet. And if it took beating the cripple up, then Oscar wasn't going to let any vague twinging of his conscience stop him.

He swung the crutch down towards the crip with the pent-up rage and stress from the need to find fifteen— _fifteen_ —dollars within a week. The crip gasped, but had stopped begging for mercy. Perhaps he recognized that there would be no escape. Nothing, but pain.

Much too quickly, it seemed, the crip ceased all movement and merely lay there. "Th-that's a lot of b-blood," Morris stuttered, his voice soft.

"That's the point," Oscar said gruffly. This is what they were doing to get Morris out of the grave he had dug for himself; Morris had no rights to start _doubting_ their actions now. "Remember? We gotta do this for you." Oscar bent and started rustling through the cripple's pockets, stuffing the coins into his own. It sure seemed like a lot, but they would need to count it later.

Morris nodded, but he still looked queasy. Oscar grabbed the crip's foot and started dragging him closer to the entryway of the alley. There was no time for emotions. He could feel guilty _after_ Morris' idiotic bet had been paid off. "Come on," he hissed to his younger brother. "We gotta get in place for Kelly."

Once the crip had been positioned near the opening of the alley, Oscar and Morris doubled back to meet up with Kelly. The strike leader was talking up some customer, who finally relented and purchased a paper. Oscar quickly double-checked his and Morris' shoes for any stray blood, before approaching Kelly. "The great Jack Kelly is still selling papes," Oscar announced, smoothing his face into cocky indifference. Kelly whirled around, glaring at Oscar. "Thought you'd be off brown-nosing Pulitzer."

"Thought I smelled something rancid," Kelly spat.

"Hey, we ain't here to cause trouble. In fact, we was looking to get a job with you."

"Selling papes?" Kelly asked, snorting humorlessly. "Yeah, right. You'se got faces that would scare away even the blind customers."

Oscar glowered at Kelly. "No, we'se offering protection for your boys. We caught wind that a kid down in Brooklyn had been killed. Conlon probably scared the gang up here. We'se willing to help protect your boys. For a price, of course."

Kelly laughed. "Okay, nice try, fellas. I ain't falling for something like that."

"You didn't hear 'bout the kid in Brooklyn?" Oscar asked, grateful that the rumors about the dead kid had just started circulating. It was as if fate was aligning herself in Oscar's favor, for once in his wretched life. The Brooklyn boy had been found, bloody, in some alley. The killers hadn't been caught, but Oscar had no doubt that Conlon was conducting his own searches; Oscar wouldn't allow Morris near Brooklyn until the whole storm had died down.

"No, I heard 'bout the kid, but why would the killers try to go after Manhattan? We ain't involved in whatever turf war Brooklyn may have gotten itself in."

"You'se got weak boys."

Kelly stiffened at that. "I do not," he hissed, bristling with protective fury. "Now, why don't you just scram."

"It's just an offer," Oscar continued. "Think it over, Kelly." He glanced at Morris, who nodded imperceptibly. "Anyway, we'll just tag along. Maybe, you need some protection," he added, smirking at Kelly.

Kelly regarded Oscar suspiciously. "What are you playing at?"

"We need the money. We'se just trying to earn it honestly."

Kelly snorted at "honestly" and started toward the Lodging House. Oscar followed, but Morris slipped away, melting into the crowd of disinterested New Yorkers. "You just gonna follow me?" Kelly asked. "Like a baby?"

Normally, Oscar would have struck him for the insult, but he needed to keep Kelly distracted from Morris' disappearance. "Maybe we're headed in the same direction."

Rolling his eyes, Kelly murmured something unintelligible. But, he didn't ask about where Morris had gone, or tell Oscar to leave. As they neared the alley, Oscar's palms began to grow slick with sweat. Everything could go wrong so easily. What if Kelly caught Morris? What if someone had already found the crip? What if Kelly walked past and didn't even notice?

Just as they were approaching the entryway of the alley, Oscar could hear Morris shouting, "You stupid crip!" His younger brother had roughened his voice to the point that it was nearly unrecognizable and Oscar doubted that Kelly would recognize the attacker to be Morris. Kelly's eyes lit up with rage at the comment and he dashed around the corner into the alley. Morris had pulled a bandana over his face, the only disguise they could afford on such short notice. Kelly shoved Morris away from the crip's limp body and Morris took off running before Kelly could stop him.

Now that everything had gone as planned, Oscar could focus completely on the injured crip. His left arm was bent back at a sickening angle and Oscar couldn't remember if he had done that or if that had been Morris' handiwork. The crip's face was dirty with grime and blood, but pale streaks of tears lined the cheeks. There was blood staining the crip's hair, coating the alleyway ground with a dark, dirty puddle. Oscar could even distinguish a sickly trail from where he had dragged the crip to the edge of the alley. Morris' words from earlier echoed in Oscar's head and he started to worry: _Th-that's a lot of b-blood._

Kelly's trembling fingers hesitated over the crip. "C-crutchie?" Kelly asked. "Crutch, you'se gonna be okay." He gripped the crip's hand, simultaneously reaching out to cup a bloody cheek. "You'se gonna be okay," he repeated.

Oscar felt as if he were intruding and was tempted to back away, to leave Kelly with his crip. He felt a soft touch at his elbow and turned to see Morris beside him. Morris nodded once, before turning to watch Kelly.

The strike leader had maneuvered himself so that the crip's head lay in his lap. He continued to run worried fingers over the crip's body, murmuring nonsenses and promises that Oscar doubted could be fulfilled. "Come on, Crutchie," Kelly whispered, tapping the crip's cheek. "Come on. Just open your eyes. Just—I can't… Just open your eyes."

"Is he okay?" Oscar asked, hating how his voice cracked on the final word. Kelly didn't respond, didn't even indicate that he had heard Oscar speak. "The crip," Oscar tried again. "Is he okay?"

Kelly paused his nervous tapping. "Of—of course he is. He's fine. Just… Just, uh, unconscious. Once he wakes up, he's gonna be… fine. I just gotta wake him up."

Morris spoke up. "He… He don't look fine. He looks d-dead."

"He ain't dead," Kelly growled. "He ain't. Just— He ain't dead!"

Oscar knelt down beside Kelly, gently placing a finger beneath the crip's nostrils. He waited a couple of tense beats, but did not feel any hot breeze stirring from the crip. His stomach sunk and Oscar refused to meet Kelly's eyes. "He's dead, Kelly. The crip ain't breathing."

Kelly shook his head stubbornly. One hand clung tightly to the crip's motionless hand and the other ran desperately up and down the crip's face. "No. No, he can't be— I— He ain't dead!"

Oscar watched as the cocky strike leader, the boy he had hated for so long, shattered. Kelly began to sob, pulling the crip's head up to his own, trying desperately to wish life back into the limp body. For a moment, Oscar was tempted to put an arm around Kelly, but he resisted. The motion wouldn't be welcome. He stood, ignoring the blood that had soaked through the knees of his pants. "Come on, Morris. We gotta go."

"He's really d-dead?" Morris asked, once they had left Kelly and his crip.

Oscar nodded stiffly. His pockets weighed heavily with the crip's coins. The crip had died for only a dollar or two, probably. His voice stern and emotionless, Oscar said, "Come on, Morris. That's only step one. If we'se gonna get the money, we gotta go get another one of the young newsies. You said the small flirty boy was down this way, too?"

* * *

 **So, I hope you all enjoyed that! I actually did not mean to kill Crutchie. It was an accident. I had a different ending to this, one where Crutchie lived, and then I sat down to write it and... this happened.**

 **Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!**


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